The 34th Floor

The 34th Floor - Chapter 3 - Rachel

Author's Note:

I hope you enjoyed the last two chapters I had up. Those were the first Grace and Noah P.O.Vs and now here is a third one. This one has a bit of a romance or at least the beginning of some. I told you it was faster paced, knowing that this is a life or death situation.

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The 34th Floor

Chapter 3:

Rachel

I chewed on my bottom lip, scraping the red lipstick I had plastered on hours ago. I rubbed my finger up and down my nose, wiping away the layers of foundation I had put on. Cradling my head in my arms, I sat on a small bed with my legs pressed tightly to my chest. Wiping my fingers on the white bed sheets that were messily set around me, I watched as the color of my make-up stained on the sheets. It was hot in the room. So hot that I had the urge to rip of my clothes and just lay on the bed. However, I had at least a little bit of dignity. I pulled the straps of my dress closer to my neck while moving aside all of my hair to one side. My head hurt really bad and by no means was the hot air blowing into the room helping. I curled my fingers around the edges of my skirt and started to wave it up and down, trying to blow air onto my face. I shut my eyes, feeling a cold breeze blow across my face, but I could only wave the skirt so much until my arms became tired and my face slowly became hotter again.

I growled, thrashing back and forth in the bad, aggravated. If I had no gone to the bar, if I had not been fooled by the sly smirk lacing on the young man’s face, if I had not been so drunk, then maybe I had no gotten stuck in this place. I was angry at the boy for pushing me into this house and leaving me to fall on my ass after he shut the door behind him. I couldn’t pull open the front door again and certainly was infuriated at the boy’s parting footsteps and cruel laughter. Even while I had curled into a ball in front of the front door, I could hear the roaring of his car, leaving me to suffer alone. I had ambled down the hallways and corridors, looking for a phone or something to break the front door with. I had ended up coming into this room, hearing the sound of music, hoping to be greeted by someone else’s presence. However, when I walked through the door, I saw no one, but this large bed and an old time tape recording playing a song with the sound of words here and there.

I ran a hand through my hair as if tugging on my hair would stop the pain. I was having a killer headache after consuming over fifty glasses of alcohol. I was too busy being a hoe to have the slightest idea of where that boy was taking me and I regret it greatly especially with the alcohol sinking in and my brain becoming clearer.

“This will be a sad, sad song,” a man recited with the music playing in the background.

I stared at the tape recorder, my hands frozen midway from running through my tangled hair.

“A song to mark just the beginning of your suffering,” the same man continued as I held my breath and gulped slowly.

“And I invite you to me home with open arms so you may feel what I felt.” The man chuckled, mercilessly and cruelly, slightly reminding me of the boy who had dropped me in this penthouse in the first place. Fear washed over me and I gulped nervously.

I didn’t get to hear the next words because suddenly the door to the room was thrown open. My eyes stretched out, possibly looking wider against my dark, black, eyeliner. I dragged my legs over the edge of the bed, ready to jump up and escape the premises of this room. I stood up, my black skirt, hitching up as my legs hit the burning ground floor.